


see the world hanging upside down

by averita



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e14 The Grove, F/M, Gen, References to Canon violence, Season/Series 10, can be read as gen or shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: “What would you do,” she says, so quietly it could be the wind, “if I snapped?’Post 10x13, Daryl and Carol talk.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	see the world hanging upside down

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't watched this show in years and I don't even know what's happening - I'm literally only watching Carol's scenes and filling in the gaps with wiki - so this might make no sense in canon context but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ it's quarantine season so why not? I started this ages ago actually and just updated the context and hauled ass to get it finished before 10x14 (which I'm spoiler-free for except for the title but the title says enough!).
> 
> TW: basically everything you'd expect - references to canon violence and deaths, including children, as well as suicidal ideation and serious angst.
> 
> Title from "The Cave" by Mumford and Sons.

He finds her behind the little cabin they’ve settled into for the evening, alone on the porch swing that looks about five minutes from collapsing beneath her. She has a half-smoked cigarette in one hand and a leg curled under her; the other moves back and forth on the patio floor, creating a gentle rocking motion that stops when Daryl carefully settles beside her. 

“Everyone asleep?” she asks, staring at the yard instead of facing him.

“Yeah.” It hadn’t been easy. Most of the kids had nodded off fine, and the adults even easier, but the events of the last few days have caught up to RJ in a big way, and Daryl knows that more likely than not he’ll be up and down through the night, begging for Michonne. And Judith - hell if Judith doesn’t remind him of the woman sitting beside him, all brittle strength and both eyes on the greater good. It scares the shit out of him.

Carol casts her gaze sideways towards him, biting her lip. They haven’t talked about what Judith told them - what Michonne told _her_ \- hell, they haven’t talked about anything, but that's is a can of worms that Daryl can’t even look at tonight and he cuts her off before she can open it. 

“How’s your head?” he asks abruptly, looking at his own lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her give a weary shrug. 

“Hurts,” she replies. “Your leg?”

Daryl shrugs too, wincing just a bit. “‘S a bitch,” he confirms, and reaches with his good arm for the pack of cigarettes on the swing next to her. “Gimme one of those.”

Carol grabs his wrist just as his fingers close around it. “Ask nicely,” she teases, but her voice is flat and she's still not looking at him. Daryl snorts, unamused, and she pulls her hand back as he selects a cigarette for himself. Wordlessly, she hands him her own, and he lights his with the embers barely burning at the end before offering it back; she shakes her head. He drops it instead, extinguishing it with his shoe. 

The clear blue of twilight gives way to the black of night, the thin sliver of moon and the fire inside offering more shadow than light. Daryl’s leg throbs. He finishes his cigarette and shifts on the bench, more tired than he can remember being. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, Daryl,” Carol finally says. She moves her leg out from under her and plants it on the ground, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees and tilting her head forward. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid.” 

Beside her Daryl stills. “Yeah?” he replies, disbelieving, and she narrows her eyes. 

“I got what I wanted,” she says, voice cracking. “What the hell else is there? The damage is done. No more collateral.”

“Just ‘cause you’re not running after her anymore doesn’t mean you’re suddenly fine,” he says, harsher than he intended but not caring. “All it means is you’re on the lookout for the next thing to run to.”

He remembers her standing by a car on a night much like this. _We get to start over_ , he’d told her, and she’d wanted to. She’d done it, even - not with him, but that didn’t matter as long as she was safe and happy and he knew where she was. But before that she’d run, and when that fresh start turned rotten and disintegrated in her hands, she’d vanished again before his eyes. _It’s like talking to a goddamn ghost_ , he’d said, and like looking at one, too - a spectre, pale and distant, with only the rarest glimpses of the woman he missed so desperately. 

“And so what if I am?” Carol asks now, voice thick with grief. “No one wants me here, and I don’t want to be here. Why stay when all it does is hurt?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Because the hurt’s not going anywhere, you know that damn well. Putting Alpha’s head on a pike didn’t fix it, and running’s not gonna fix it either.”

Carol looks up, raising her eyes skyward as though seeking answers there. She presses her trembling lips together until they part on a choked sob, and she turns to meet his gaze at last.

“So what _will_?” she pleads, raw as he’s ever heard her. 

God damn it, he thinks - god damn it all, because this has never come easy to him and he’s already given her all that he has, and it hasn’t been enough. He has even less to offer now, beaten down by war and grief and responsibility, and part of him hates her for asking because she knows - she _has_ to know - that he’ll drain himself dry if it keeps her going. That he’ll die himself before letting her go.

That’s how they ended up here, after all. 

He breathes in and out, flexing his fingers, and feels the anger begin to burn itself away. He’s too tired for it. 

“I told you,” he says gruffly. “You’ve gotta fucking _try_. There’s a lot you’ve been running from and it’s time you stop and face it now, even if it hurts.” He pauses, remembering another moment in the woods - her hand on his face, her lips on his forehead. “You lock everything down until you can’t anymore, and then it eats you alive. You’ve got to find a way to live with it all now.”

He’s harsh but honest, and for the first time in a long time the words seem to reach her. She presses her lips back together and looks down again, pressing her palms against her eyes and sighs shakily. “Yeah,” she breathes, so quietly Daryl barely hears her, nodding into her hands before wiping her cheeks with the backs of them. 

It’s a childlike gesture and it softens something in him; the last of his anger melts away and solidifies into something heavier in his chest. He lifts an arm, resting it on the back of the swing over her shoulders, and she looks at him with such heartbreaking surprise that his own throat grows tight. 

She leans against him - a little stiffly, more unsure than he’s used to seeing her - and he pulls her close, stroking his thumb up and down the thin fabric covering her shoulder. 

He remembers being with her in that shelter in Atlanta, and the book he found there. He’d read it, had even held onto it for awhile before it got left behind in one move or another. It had talked about a lot of things - distress tolerance, opposite action, plenty of fancy words for coping - but mostly he remembers the practice of being still. Mindfulness, the book called it. Being in the moment and not putting anything else on it. 

Carol is here, and in his arms, and it feels good. That’s the moment he’s in right now. He lets himself be. 

They sit for a long time. The cooling night air makes Daryl’s leg throb; he feels drained, like the anger he’s carried was a poison that he’s only now free of, and his body hasn’t quite caught up. Soft white strands of hair tickle his chin with the occasional breeze, sending shivers through Carol, and the chains of the porch swing creak every so often. He wonders how long it’s been here, and who else might have sat in this spot. He wonders what happened to them. 

Time grows hazy. Nightfall lulls him into a quiet trance that only breaks when Carol speaks.

“What would you do,” she says, so quietly it could be the wind, “if I snapped?’

He startles, more at the suddenness than at the words, which don’t register right away.

“Really snapped,” she continues, shivering again. “I mean - worse than with Alpha. No coming back.” Daryl digs his fingers a little tighter into her shoulder, adrenaline going from zero to sixty, and she seems to feel it because she’s wound tight again pressed up against him. “If I was a threat - not just careless, but a real threat to you and to everyone - what would you do?”

“Didn’t you just finish telling me not to worry?” Daryl demands. A shiver runs down his own spine as he shifts to grab her by both shoulders; she allows it, angling her body to face him and meeting his gaze more steadily than she has in days. 

“I meant it,” she says. “I’m just asking.” Her eyes shine, and she blinks. “I need to know. What would you do?” 

Daryl stares at her hard; she stares back, the lines in her face deep and tired.

He drops his hands from her shoulders and leans back. “There ain’t nothing you can’t come back from,” he tells her. “Nothing.”

It’s the truth, he thinks - he’s here with her, isn’t he, after everything - but mostly he says it because he thinks it’s what she needs to hear. He’s surprised when a frown creases her brow.

“That’s not true,” she says, smoothing her hands over her pants agitatedly. “Say I woke up tomorrow and - I don’t know, I realize that this world is just no place to exist.” Daryl stares at her, wishing he hadn’t put out his cigarette earlier; his hands feel empty and useless now, but she’s working herself up and he doesn’t know how to reach back out. 

“I realize that this whole thing,” she continues, gesturing broadly at the world around them, “this was God’s way of telling us that the human race is done, and we just need to accept it. Quit fighting. No - no, don’t,” she cuts him off before he can speak, softening slightly at the alarm clear on his face - “don’t - say I just _snap_ , and it’s not enough to just take myself out of the picture.” Her voice breaks but she doesn’t look away as she finishes. “Say I decide I need to take everyone I love with me.”

The quiet of the night that had soothed him earlier is different now - fragile-spun glass and spiderweb cracks that could shatter on a breath.

Daryl has never been much for eye contact, but it’s never felt this hard, nor this important. Her gaze is clear and open, searching - but for what, he doesn’t know, and he feels utterly useless as his eyes flicker down, unable to maintain it, and then back up to hers. 

He’s struck, not for the first time, by a sudden burning urge to just _leave_. Pack her up on the bike and head west like they’d talked about, put physical distance between them and whatever was going on in her head like he hadn’t just told her that it wouldn’t make a difference.

“Carol -” he finally croaks, and she shushes him with a firm shake of her head.

“It’s better this way, I decide,” she interrupts, not letting him get a word in. “It’s mercy. So say I realize this and I go through that door,” she nods towards the thin wooden door between them and the rest of the group, “and kill everyone inside.”

She says it like it’s nothing. Like she’s not talking about Judith and RJ, like these words aren’t the worst things Daryl’s heard in his whole life, and because of that it takes him a second to actually register them. 

Carol doesn’t so much as flinch. She keeps her gaze right on his as she says, “And then I turn on you and tell you it’s the only way. I can’t rest until everyone we love is dead.”

“Stop,” he interjects harshly, the word thick in his throat. “Why the hell - Jesus, Carol, you’d never. You’d _never_.” 

It’s all he can get out. 

Carol’s face softens just a little, and she shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t,” she agrees quietly - and Daryl knows that, every single cell in his body _knows_ that’s true, but he doesn’t understand why she’s saying this. He huffs out a painful breath, knowing that the confusion eating away at him is written all over his face, but there’s something on hers, too - she’s looking for something, and it’s in every tight, trembling syllable when she says, “But _if I did_.”

Daryl doesn’t know what game this is but he doesn’t want any part of it. She’s asking a question that he doesn’t know the answer to, and he’s terrified he won’t get it right. 

There’s a part of him, though, that recognizes that if he sees this through - plays along - he might get answers, too. Answers to questions he’d thought long closed off to him, answers that might explain things that even now are inexplicable.

He dips his head in a stiff nod, a silent agreement to follow where she leads.

Carol lets out a long breath, closing her eyes for a few moments. When she opens them again they’re clear. 

“So,” she says, voice steadier than before. “There’s no coming back, but no going forward, either. I can’t be around people. So what do you do?”

He doesn’t have to think about that. “I’d take you somewhere safe,” he replies, trying to keep his voice as even as hers. “Keep you safe.” 

Carol’s lips twitch like she’s fighting back something and she takes his hand between both of hers like it makes what she’s saying any better. “I’d kill you first chance I got,” she says, almost apologetically. She squeezes his hand hard and he squeezes right back even as his stomach clenches, grateful for any solid anchor in a conversation that’s got him spinning around and sick. “So what do you do?”

“I’d let you,” Daryl tells her, voice cracking, and means it.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes again like the words are hurting her just as much. He’s still not sure where she’s taking them but there’s something building - an inkling taking just the vaguest of forms in his mind - and he waits, gut churning with anticipatory dread.

“I’d go back to Alexandria,” Carol whispers, eyes still closed. “Find whoever’s left. Go after Michonne. Go after _Rick_.” She blinks rapidly and Daryl catches her chin, wipes the tears clear before they can fall then lets his hand fall back to his lap. “So what do you do?” she asks again, her voice breaking.

He doesn’t know. She has to know that - she’s looking at him with a desperation that slices deeper than any blade ever has but his mind is blank save for the fuzzy scenes he can’t stop imagining - scenes worse than anything he’s seen these past ten years, scenes worse than he’d ever even dreamed - 

“I’d…” he begins, but he can’t get out the rest. Can’t even look at her, and now he’s the one closing his eyes. 

“I have to die,” Carol tells him, her grip on his hand ironclad. “There’s no other choice.” She pauses, but not for long - not nearly long enough. “So do you let me be executed? Strung up in a public square? Or maybe Rosita and Gabriel take me out back and put me down.” Daryl’s eyes remain closed but he can feel the intensity of her gaze as she asks, “Do you let them? Or do you do it yourself?”

He remembers the tombs. That horrible rattling sound, a steel door the only thing between him and the worst thing he could think of. It had taken days for him to muster the strength to do what needed to be done, but he’d never even thought of asking someone else to do it instead. He’d owed her that much.

He owes her so much more, now.

“I’d do it,” he says, and meets her gaze as he says it.

Carol exhales slowly, relaxing her grip on his hand; he’d known what answer she needed but there’s a deeper relief than he’d expected playing across her face. 

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly. “And then what?”

Daryl stares at her, blood rushing in his ears. “What?”

“Would you be able to live with it?” 

It's the most ridiculous question she’s asked in this entire, insane conversation. “Of course not,” he grits out, frustration beginning to cut through the hazy horror that’s gripped him these past few minutes. 

Carol nods matter-of-factly, like he’s given the correct answer in class. “Well, neither can I.”

The words hang in the air, silence falling like glass all around them.

Daryl thinks about the things they’ve survived. They’ve spent more time apart than they have together these last ten years but the greatest losses - the times he’d thought he might not make it through - have always been shared. She’d been there when he lost Merle, both the first and last time; she’d mourned Hershel and T-Dog and Andrea with him, and her hand had been warm on his shoulder when the gun rang out in the hospital hallway. 

They’d let go of Rick in their own ways - she’d built a new life and he’d retreated to his old one, solitary and silent. 

He’d held her through the deaths of both of her children, and she’d _lived_ with that loss. 

There’s only one gap in the narrative, a missing piece that’s been wedged between them for far too long now, and he doesn’t want to know as much as he knows he needs to.

“You said…after the prison,” he begins roughly, and swallows. “With the girls. You said it was worse than I thought.”

She nods again, eyes shining with relief and something else. “Yeah.”

The picture is coming together in horrifying clarity. Two little girls with blonde hair and Carol, blank faced and silent next to him, wanting nothing but to forget. 

“Lizzie?” he asks, remembering - _realizing_ \- 

She doesn’t try to stop the tears this time; they stream unchecked down her cheeks. “We left for just a few minutes,” she breathes, high and tremulous. “Went to get water from the well. Just a few minutes.” She sucks in a wet sob and presses her lips together hard, swallowing. “She was standing over Mika with a knife. Just _standing_ there, waiting for her to turn. And Judith -” she presses a shaking hand to her eyes, struggling to get the next words out - “she was going to do Judith next -”

“Jesus,” Daryl swears, and when he reaches for her she slumps into him like her strings have been cut. 

He holds her so tightly that he’d worry about bruises if he had space in his head for anything but what she’s just told him, but she barely seems to realize it as she inhales short, sharp breaths and visibly tries to pull herself together. “It had to be done,” she finally says, words muffled in his jacket. “Tyreese couldn’t, so I did. _I did it_.” She moves to pull away but Daryl catches her hands, squeezing them as she straightens; now that he can see her face again she’s white as a sheet, every part of her trembling. “And I lived with it, just like I lived with Sophia coming out of that barn, and every _goddamn_ thing that came after, and they just - they keep coming, Daryl,” she gasps, tears choking her words and hair falling loose around her face, “I just can’t do it anymore. I’m _done_. And I need you to - I need you to let me be.”

He shakes his head, cupping her face and stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones; she wraps her fingers around his wrists, face crumpling beneath his fingertips, and he presses his own forehead to hers, closing his eyes. Her sobs mingle with his own sharp, shallow breaths. 

They breathe together until her tears slow and his own throat loosens enough to speak.

“It shouldn’t’ve been you,” he tells her hoarsely. “You’re the strong one, sweetheart, you always have been, but that shouldn’t have been on you.”

“Well, it was,” she says, pulling away and wiping her face. “It _is_. I thought - for a little while, I thought I could - but I can’t. Not after everything.” She breathes out shakily, eyes shining with tears and moonlight. “You could just let me go,” she repeats, reaching forward to cup his cheek. “You’d be okay, and I’d be able to quit fighting. As long as you keep holding on to me I’m gonna keep dragging you down, and it’s hurting us both. _I’m_ hurting us both.” She sniffs. “I need you to let me _go_.”

Daryl grasps her wrist, just like she had done his, and ducks his head so that they’re eye level. “You think I could ever be okay like that?” he demands. “You think you’re dragging me down, fine - I’ll sit at the bottom of the fucking ocean with you until you’re ready to come back up, but no matter how bad you want to be alone in this, you’re _not_. You ain’t ever gonna be.”

Carol presses her lips together tightly; his words seem to cause her pain. “I keep hurting you,” she whispers again. “Not just you. Connie, Magna - I’m so tired of hurting people but it’s all I do.”

“You do a lot more than hurt people,” he tells her. “Fuck, Carol, the only thing kept me human those years after the war was you comin’ to see me.” He tightens his fingers around her thin wrist, catching her chin with his free hand. “Only reason I got to that point at all was ‘cause you didn’t let me get lost on the way. You never let go of me, not once,” he says fiercely, “and to hell with you thinking I’d ever do that to you.”

He gathers her close again to make his point, the swing creaking ominously as their weight shifts to one end of the bench. She holds tight to the fabric of his jacket and buries her face against him, shuddering hard as he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“God damn it,” she breathes into his neck. “God _damn_ it, Daryl.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just twists her fingers more tightly into his jacket, but she lets him hold on to her, and she doesn’t let go.


End file.
